Shoot anything that moves
by RogueCajun
Summary: Hawke suspects he must've upset some powerful being in a past life with the way his luck runs. How else could one man attract so much trouble? But it's his life and he loves it. A collection of miscellaneous misadventures of Greyjoy Hawke and his companions.
1. Gifts

**Title: **Shoot anything that moves**  
Summary: ** A collection of miscellaneous misadventures of Greyjoy Hawke and his companions.**  
Rating: **K (subject to change depending on what the ficlet entails.)**  
A/n: **Yes, I named my Hawke 'Greyjoy' because 'Theon Hawke' just didn't sound as cool. Come at me bro. He's a warrior and a snarky bastard; except for when he's not but don't tell anyone—he has a reputation to protect. Also I have no idea when this is set. Now taking prompts over at my tumblr (link in profile); stop by and say 'hi'.

* * *

1. Gifts

* * *

He didn't know what possessed him in the market today. One moment he's wandering aimlessly, glad to be outside in the warm sunlight and the next he's purchasing his Dalish companion a gift. Greyjoy Hawke stands at the plain wooden door for what seems like an eternity before finally raising a hand and knocking. Merrill opens the door quickly as if she's been standing there as long as he has and just waiting for him to knock. It really wouldn't surprise him if she was; she's always been very intuitive. "Oh hullo Hawke!" she greets with a wide smile.

"Hi Merrill." He replies with a smile of his own; her enthusiasm is contagious. She invites him inside as she always does and they quickly fall into their usual routine: he follows her in, sits and turns down the offer of water because he'd be far safer drinking sea water than what passes for water in the alienage.

"What brings you here?" she asks curiously and then gives a little gasp of realization. "Do you have another quest planned?" She must be incredibly bored with life in the alienage if she's eager to take up another quest. He doesn't have a quest planned but that's mostly due to the fact that he hasn't been home in a few days; there could be a slew of letters with adventure opportunities waiting for him there.

"Er…not at the moment." He replies by way of apology. They fall into an uneasy silence and he contemplates on whether or not he should actually give her the gift or not.

"Oh, wait—you're not ill are you and making the rounds to say your goodbyes?" she asks worriedly. Hawke makes a face at that. Where did she get ideas like that?

"Maker no!" he assures her. "Healthy as a horse, me." He jerks a thumb into his chest a bit too enthusiastically and winces a bit when it connects; Merrill doesn't seem to see the wince and for that Hawke is grateful.

"Oh good." She says with a sigh of relief. "That would've been awful!" He suppresses a chuckle at that. She reminds him a bit of Bethany when she was younger.

"I'm here because I got you a gift." Hawke says. He takes the satchel from his shoulder and slides it across the table to her. Merrill blinks in response.

"A gift? For me?" she sounds confused at the thought of someone buying something for her.  
_Do the Dalish not give gifts?_ Hawke wonders as he watches her cock her head to the side and stare quizzically at the satchel. "A bag?" Hawke's smile is bemused.

"No," he answers. "The bag's mine—your gift is inside it."

"Oh, of course." She says and her tone is one of embarrassment and at the sound of it Hawke's smile widens. If there has ever been anything more adorable then he has yet to see it. He likes her company the best of all his companions (the exceptions being Varric for his story-telling and ale drinking abilities that rival Hawke's own and Isabela for reasons that have everything a lot to do with the fact that when she's around Hawke isn't thinking with his _upstairs_ brain); Merrill is eternally hopeful and when she's around Hawke can't help but feel the same way. He needs a little optimism in his life and Merrill needs someone to look after her because Maker knows there are still more than a handful of things about the human world that she doesn't understand and more than a few people in lowtown who will take advantage of her; well, not if he can help it.

"Well, go on." He urges. Any trepidation he's had is now gone and he's nothing but eager to see what she thinks of her gift. "Open it." Merrill peeks into the satchel as if she's afraid whatever is inside might be alive. Once the bag is open she breaks into as wide a smile as Hawke has ever seen as she pulls the new boots from the bag. They're dark brown and made of soft leather with green leaf patterns across the toes that wraps up and around the body of the boot and best of all they have soles. He thought of her the minute he saw them. If he has to guess, that's why he bought them. He's been that way most of his life; whenever he sees something that practically screams out a friend's name he can't do anything but buy it.

"Oh Hawke," she says. 'Thank you! They're wonderful!" She hugs them tightly to her chest.

"You're welcome." He replies. "You can use them the next time you come adventuring with me; I know how you hate how cold and hard the ground here is."

"You remembered that?" Merrill asks in disbelief. Hawke has quite the reputation for being more than a bit self-involved and he knows it. It's mostly true but that doesn't mean he doesn't listen when his companions speak.

"Of course." He says proudly. "Contrary to popular belief I am not _completely_ self-absorbed—only mostly." He finishes with a smile.

"You never cease to amaze, Hawke."

"That is my aim."


	2. Faith

**Title: **Shoot anything that moves**  
Summary: **It's not that Hawke dislikes the occasional philosophical discussion with Sebastian; it's just that he's far too sober for this. Sebastian Vael and Greyjoy Hawke have a discussion about faith, featuring a cameo by Isabela in her ongoing quest to make Sebastian break his vows.  
**Timeline:** Act 2 post 'Repentance' pre 'All that remains' and definitely pre 'A Bitter Pill' and all the romance-y stuff.**  
Rating: **K (subject to change depending on what the ficlet entails.)**  
A/n: ** Now taking prompts over at my tumblr; stop by and say 'hi'. Also, that last chapter was written in a different tense and will probably be the only one like that. Sometimes I think 'hey, let's change things up' only to realize halfway through that I don't actually want to change anything.

* * *

2. Faith

* * *

"How do you do it then, if not through faith?" Sebastian asked one evening as they sat in the Hanged Man; Hawke sitting with his feet on the table with tankard in hand and Sebastian doing neither. "You've lost just as much as I but I do not know how I could manage without my faith." This was the continuation of another conversation, in which Sebastian had asked how Hawke could be so mirthful having lost his father, then his home and brother to the blight and lastly his sister; unfortunately he had inquired this in the middle of a battle against a group of bandits. Hawke had replied that 'he was a little busy at the moment, but ask again later'. He had never seen an ounce of faith from the other man. In fact, the only time he heard either the Maker's or Andraste's names on Hawke's lips was when the warrior was taking them in vain.

Hawke sighed and downed the last of his drink before sitting the tankard on the table, the 'thunk' of metal hitting wood was drowned out by the chatter of the other patrons. This conversation was going to get very weighty, very fast—he could just tell. It wasn't as if he minded the occasional philosophical discussion with Sebastian, quite the contrary—he rather enjoyed them but he was far too sober for this. "It's not that I don't have faith Sebastian," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "But that can be a discussion point for later. To answer your question: I can continue to smile and laugh despite everything because my only other option is to wander aimlessly through the streets, weeping openly. That does no one any good. Those I've lost would want me to be happy and to help people—so that is what I do."

"It must be hard though." Sebastian pressed. Hawke waved the question off with one gauntleted hand, the metal creaking as he did so.

"Not really. It simply is what it is." They sat in silence for a few moments after that, until finally Sebastian spoke again.

"But back to the issue of you saying you actually do have faith…" Hawke smiled, he knew Sebastian wasn't going to let that one go. They had easily fallen into a brotherly relationship. Hawke suspected it had something to do with the fact that he'd lost a younger brother and Sebastian had lost older brothers; those were roles they knew how to fill for the other.

"Can I get another drink before you start interrogating me?" he asked.

"By all means," Sebastian waved a hand towards the bar. Hawke swung his feet off the table and stood up, brushing himself off before heading to the bar. It was a few minutes before he returned and when he did he was not alone: Isabela was with him. The pirate dropped down into the seat to Hawke's left (which was coincidentally, the chair across from Sebastian's.) "Hello Isabela." He greeted cordially. There were sometimes (only for a moment) when Sebastian wished he'd never taken Chantry vows and most of them were whenever Isabela was around; she was the type of woman his old self would have loved.

"Hello yourself choir boy." She had picked up Varric's nickname for him and used it almost as much as the dwarf did. There was something in her smile that made it seem as if she were trying to envision him without all the armor on (and she definitely was.) Instinctively, he slouched down into his seat a ways which only made her smile more.

"I hope you don't think that Isabela being here is going to place this conversation on hold Hawke." Sebastian said.

"Well," Hawke replied with a smile. "It was worth a try." He took a deep breath before continuing. "It's true that my belief in the Maker isn't as strong as some—too many things have happened that shouldn't for me to believe the way my mother does. But I'm willing to concede that just because he's never done a thing for me doesn't necessarily mean he doesn't exist; I didn't exactly believe in Flemeth before she swooped out of the wilds and saved my life."

"I've never heard that story." Sebastian commented. Hawke had told him that his family had fled to Kirkwall during the blight and he'd heard rumors about mysterious things concerning the hero but he'd never heard that particular story told.

"Really?" Isabela asked in disbelief. She placed her arms on the table and rested her head on her palms, giving Sebastian an unimpeded view of her ample cleavage; someday she would break him and then she could finally add 'prince' to her list of conquests—he'd go on the list right under 'hero'. "Ask Varric to tell it sometime—it's one of his favorites, mine too. Ogres, werewolves, chases, escapes, hoards of darkspawn, sword fights, deals with witches and Hawke being Hawke; what more could you want in a story? Except nudity of course, but then I think every story could use a little more nudity. Especially Hawke stories. There's something so refreshing about a hero not afraid to flaunt what he's got; especially when it's that nice." She said the last part with a look at Hawke, who laughed in return.

"So what you're saying is I should run around naked?" he asked, successfully changing the subject.

"It's a sin to cover up something that beautiful." Isabela nodded.

"Well, as you wish then 'Bela, from here on out I shall be utterly naked; I could never deny you anything."

"So if you don't exactly believe in the Maker, then what do you believe in?" Sebastian cleared his throat, trying to turn the conversation back to the original topic at hand. Hawke ran one hand along the rim of his tankard and thought about lying (but only for a moment); he exhaled loudly.

"I believe in you," Hawke replied before turning to Isabela. "And you and all the rest." He took a drink before continuing. "I'll tell you why: we are a group with religious and political views that shouldn't allow us to work together and yet, somehow we do. I believe in all of you because not a single one of you has let me down and that's more than I can say about your beloved Maker."

"I don't know what to say to that." Sebastian replied. He supposed he could try to convince Hawke that the reason his circle of friends worked as well as it did was a miracle—a gift from the Maker, but somehow he thought Hawke wouldn't appreciate it. Hawke was gracious enough to not give him too much grief over his beliefs and so the least he could do was return the favor. That didn't mean he was going to stop trying to convert him; somewhere along the line, Sebastian had decided to make it his personal mission to save Hawke. But he could tone things down for a while. "I'll try to be worthy of the faith you have in me."

"Well good." Hawke replied with a smile.


	3. Absent

**Title: **Shoot anything that moves **  
Summary: **Tallis is on a mission to stop her former mentor Salit but she cannot do it alone. She plans to enlist the help of the Champion of Kirkwall but she needs to more about him first.  
**Timeline: **Very early Act 3  
**Note**: Done as an exercise to try and break a writer's block: 'write about a character who is offstage for the entire piece'. It was supposed to be 800 words but I got just a smidge carried away because it's Tallis and I love her. No, I'm not sure where the rest of the household is during this ficlet, just go with it. Also, it has been a very long time since I have written anything that had no dialogue.

* * *

Absent

* * *

Tallis of the Qunari had heard a great many things about Greyjoy Hawke, the adventurer and Champion of Kirkwall. She had been in the Qunari compound at Kirkwall's docks when the Arishok had named the human warrior 'Basalit-an'—a rare thing for someone outside the Qun to be deemed worthy of respect. That had been the first time she had heard the name Hawke spoken. She had not been Tallis then; she had been Athlok and unable to leave her post so she had heard no more of the man until she once again became Tallis. Then she had heard tales spoken in reverent half-whispers of a man who slew slavers and dragons alike, who did not fear death but instead seemed to revel in it, wherever he went death followed in his wake. Some of the tales told how he came from Ferelden to Kirkwall's shores to escape the darkspawn horde, how he had gone into the deep roads and slaughtered the foul beasts in their own lairs. He was a man who had clawed his way to nobility from nothing¸ a phoenix raised from the ashes who cavorted with stray saarebas, former slaves, and all manner of unsavory individuals; a capable warrior who would take on any quest so long as the price was right. Then the human warrior had dueled the Arishok and _won_; she had not thought such a thing possible, even from a Basalit-an. She could not stop Salit alone but it remained to be seen whether this Hawke was the right man for the job or not. If she intended to involve him in her mission then she would need a more accurate portrait of the man than the one painted by the chatty dwarf in the Hanged Man and whispered in the streets of Kirkwall's undercity. It was not difficult to find the Hawke estate once she realized that 'the Amell estate' that the residents were referring to and 'the Hawke estate' she sought were one in the same. Perhaps if she acquired his assistance, she would ask the reasoning behind the dual names; it seemed unnecessary to her. It was strange to learn that someone as skilled as Hawke would leave his home unguarded, she slipped in easily through a side door that lead into a kitchen. Seeing no one around she moved from the kitchen doorway into a long dark hallway, peeking around the corner into the main house she took in her surroundings. The manor looked surprisingly empty and mostly untouched; she would have thought the inside would more closely resemble the ones she had seen in Orlais-opulent rooms full of ornate statues and expensive tapestries, every trinket practically screaming of the wealth of its owner. Yet here, that was not the case; the main hall was practically empty save for a few tables along the edges of the room and a rug in front of the fireplace. A large bowl sat on the floor next to one of the tables—Hawke must have a dog, a big one judging by the size of the bowl. A mabari perhaps, she had heard that Fereldens were incredibly fond of their dogs and that was their favorite breed. She could see the appeal of such an animal, one that not only listened when spoke to but actually understood; Tallis knew many who were not half as smart as the average mabari. She crept through another door that turned out to be a library. Just inside the door was a table full of several pages of parchment, the one at the top read in curly handwriting: _I am so proud of you, love mother_. Well, that ruined the image in her mind of Hawke as a ruthless killer. She supposed it was possible for a mother to love such a son but she would know nothing about that. Her memories of her parents and her life before the Qun were not things she liked to dwell on. Underneath the first piece of parchment were half a dozen smaller pieces covered in sketches of varying subjects, a sword here, a building there, a series of scribbled out faces and even a few of a mabari. She turned her attention to the books on the shelves, creases in the spines telltale signs of use. At least something in this house looked well used. She ran her hand over one and quirked an eyebrow in amusement at the title, Hard in Hightown: Siege Harder; to each his own, she supposed. When she had finished in the library she headed to the bedrooms, it was not hard to find the one that belonged to Hawke; the door was open and the room in a state of disarray as if someone had gotten ready for something in a hurry. A small chest full of seemingly worthless trinkets sat next to the door, there was a locket, and a child's drawing of a family, a small dagger, and a silver ring. She opened one of the doors on the wardrobe in the corner; it was practically empty save for a few modest looking shirts in various dark shades and one maroon colored dressing gown. Odd, she would have expected there to be at least a few frilly clothes like the kind she had seen others nobles wearing. As she looked through the belongings of the Champion of Kirkwall she decided that perhaps the tales only told half the story; this was indeed the sort of man who could help her.


End file.
